What He Didn't Have
by softballgirl05
Summary: Why everybody thinks Blaine Anderson's life is perfect. And why he knows it's not.


**What He Didn't Have: A Life Told in Numbers**

* * *

1994

_Four numbers._

It was the year Blaine Anderson was born. It was the year Robert and Linda Anderson began planning for their son. They would give their beautiful new boy everything. He would have a good life. He would be happy…

* * *

2012

_Four numbers._

Eighteen years later. It was Blaine's senior year of high school. He was the best. He had friends and a girlfriend and good grades and loving parents and a championship football trophy and scholarships for college and potential. His future was bright. He had so much potential…

* * *

873

_Three numbers._

It was the number of Facebook friends Blaine had. It's a really big number. But the number of them Blaine can actually count on is 0. Even his best friend, David, the one he's known since pre-school, isn't really a good friend. He hangs out at Blaine's house and plays his Xbox and eats the food in his fridge and rides to school in his BMW and swims in his pool and vacations at his summer home in France but he doesn't really care. Blaine knows because when Coach Keller found pot in David's gym bag, David claimed it was Blaine's. He said that he found Blaine smoking it and took it away. And Coach believed him. Coach Keller sat Blaine down and told him that he wouldn't rat him out to the school or his parents. He didn't want to see the school's star quarterback disgraced in a drug scandal. So he would make sure Blaine was clean and forget he ever found the pot.

When Blaine confronted David, he apologized. He said he knew Blaine wouldn't get in real trouble. David said that he couldn't afford to be caught with drugs. So he gave Coach Blaine's name because he knew Coach wouldn't punish Blaine. And Blaine clapped him on the back and told David that it was all good. David still came over to Blaine's house and vacationed at his summer home. But Blaine never told David any of his secrets ever again.

* * *

427

_Three numbers._

It was the number of days Blaine and his girlfriend Sophie were together. They were so cute together. He was a perfect gentleman. He opened the car door when he picked her for school everyday, her coffee waiting in his hand. He took her out to dinner and bought her nice jewelry. He told her she was beautiful. He kissed her sweetly. He asked her to prom over the microphone in the cafeteria with a dozen roses in hand. He smiled at her, cheering with the rest of the cheerleaders on the sidelines, whenever he scored a touchdown. He was going to propose in a few years. He loved her. He thought she loved him back. So when Blaine walked in on her kissing someone else, he was devastated.

Blaine was just looking for somewhere quiet to sit. The party was loud. The music was booming through the speakers and the shouts of drunken teens echoed through Wes' house. Blaine let himself into the upstairs bedroom hoping to relieve his headache. Instead, he found Sophie making out with another guy. She looked guilty when he called her out on it. She stroked his arm comfortingly and apologized profusely. Mascara-tinted tear tracks ran down her face as she told him she was so sorry she made this terrible mistake. She didn't answer him when he asked how many other guys she cheated on him with. Sophie begged him to take her back.

And Blaine did. Because Blaine was a nice guy. Because Blaine was a forgiving guy. Because Blaine knew everyone expected him and Sophie to be together forever.

And Blaine needed his girlfriend. He needed somebody to take to prom and bring home to his parents. He needed somebody to make him forget the twisting sensation in his stomach when he changed next to Mike Chang in the locker room and tried his hardest to avoid staring. Blaine needed somebody else – a girl – to think about when he started imagining Kurt Hummel from his French class kissing him. When Kurt would turn around and wink at him. When Kurt smiled his brilliant smile. Blaine couldn't handle it. Sophie was his shield. Blaine needed Sophie more than she would ever know.

So Blaine and Sophie were still together. But Blaine didn't love her any more. And when he thought honestly about it, Blaine never really loved her in the first place.

* * *

4.00

_Three numbers._

It was Blaine's GPA. It was the GPA Blaine needed to have in order to get into Cal Berkley. It was the GPA Blaine's father expected him to maintain. When Blaine brought home a B+ on his English midterm, Robert Anderson was infuriated. He accused his son of being lazy and not working hard enough. So he took Blaine's car keys until his grades came back up. But Robert was wrong. Blaine wasn't lazy. Blaine just couldn't write an essay very well. So on the next paper his teacher assigned, Blaine worked harder. He spent hours editing and revising and handed in what he thought was the best paper he'd ever written. He couldn't believe the 88% written at the top of the essay in red ink when it was returned to him.

So when the time came for him to write his final exam essay, Blaine paid Rachel Berry to write it for him. He paid her one hundred dollars for more than just an essay. He bought his father's approval and his way into Cal Berkley. When his report card was mailed home with the A in English on it, Blaine's stomach sank. Because he it wasn't his A. He should cut that A out and mail it to Rachel Berry. But he didn't. Instead, he smiled as his father clapped his shoulder and his mother put the report card on the refrigerator. And every time he went to get a drink and saw it hanging on the stainless steel door, Blaine believed in himself a little less.

* * *

1

_One number._

It was the number of times Blaine has seen his father hit his mom. It was one time too many. Blaine knew his father had a temper. He had been on the receiving end of his father's rants and rage more than he would have liked. But he had never actually seen his dad lay a hand on anyone. Until that night.

His parents probably thought he was asleep. It was nearly two in the morning after all. He could hear his father shouting at his mom. Blaine got out of bed and silently crept into the hallway. He stood at the top of the staircase, leaning over the banister to see his parents. His mother was crying but his father didn't seem to care. He continued to yell. Blaine could tell he was drunk. His words were slurred and his face was the ruddy red color it got whenever he had too much wine at Christmas dinner. Blaine had seen his father tipsy before, but never full on drunk. Blaine couldn't tell what they were arguing about, but he heard his name. His mom pleaded with his father to stop shouting. She said he was going to wake Blaine.

That's when he did it. Robert Hanover reached out and slapped his wife. He continued to yell. And he slapped her again. And yelled some more. Blaine stood frozen by the staircase. He could have gone downstairs and comforted his mother. He could have stood up to his father and protected his mom. He could have, but he didn't. Instead, he slunk back into his room and cried himself to sleep. He pretended like nothing bad ever happened.

And when Blaine thought more about it, he realized he had become pretty good at pretending like nothing bad had ever happened.

* * *

26

_Two numbers._

It was the number of brightly colored pills Blaine held in his hand. He knew, he had counted each one. He stared at them, all daring him to swallow the handful. He never thought he would be the kind of person to do this sort of thing. Certainly, nobody expected him to be the kind of person that would do this sort of thing. But that was just another problem Blaine had: living up to their expectations. They thought he had it all, so he had to pretend like he did. But standing in his bathroom, holding the pills in his hands, Blaine realized that he had nothing. Everything in his life had become fake because he was expected to carry on, pretending it was all perfect. Nobody thought to ask him if he was having any problems because his life looked so nice and neat. Blaine was just that kid, the one everyone wanted to be. But he was done pretending to be somebody he wasn't.

Blaine wasn't sure if he believed in a God. He went to church every Sunday, but he wasn't religious. Never the less, he stood in his bathroom and said a silent prayer. He asked that God would help David kick his drug habits. He asked that Sophie would find somebody who truly loved her. He asked that somebody who really deserved it would take his spot at Cal Berkley. He asked that his mom would have the courage to leave his dad if he kept hitting her. But most importantly, he asked that wherever he was going, afterlife or not, he wouldn't have to pretend anymore.

He took one last look around his bedroom and bathroom, remnants of his "perfect" life scattered around. The pictures, the medals and trophies, everything in his room looked like it belonged to a good guy. A kid who was going places. A kid who had a lot of potential.

Blaine swallowed all of the pills in his hand and waited…

* * *

9-1-1

_Three numbers._

"9-1-1, what is your emergency?"

"M-my son, he's not breathing! I think- God, please no! Help him, you have to help him. You have to help my son!"

"Please, I need you to tell me where you are so I can send you some help."

"He's not breathing! I need… I need… My son can't be d- no, he can't be! He was such a g-good boy. He l-loved life, loved it so much. H-he was beautiful and s-so smart… he can't be dead. He was so p-perfect. My son was so perfect…"

* * *

**A/N: I know I haven't written anything in literally a year, but I found this story on my computer and decided to post it. This was originally a short story for an English project but I wrote it with Blaine in mind. I just now got around to changing the names and tweaking it a little to fit Blaine. I hope you all liked it! Reviews are always appreciated. **


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